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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158221">Eucharist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeryos/pseuds/cheeryos'>cheeryos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're the dreamer in the beautiful mess [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, Ronan Lynch is Very Catholic, barely though it's just a more dramatic way of getting together, but I am not catholic so like sorry if things are incorrect, lots of mild blasphemy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeryos/pseuds/cheeryos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And so Ronan showed up where he was—not invited, exactly, but allowed. And so he lounged, ostensibly relaxed, with that practiced air of indolent carelessness, while his skin thrummed with energy unused, electricity yearning for a conduit. And so he looked, without looking, and burned. Night after night after night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we're the dreamer in the beautiful mess [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eucharist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was nothing out of the ordinary about the night that Ronan Lynch decided to blow up his whole life.</p><p>He had gone over to St. Agnes after Adam had come back from a shift at the warehouse. He did this pretty regularly, so that wasn’t unusual. They had been hanging out often enough that Ronan knew Adam’s regular work schedule by heart. This was—something. A little pathetic, maybe. But not unusual.</p><p>Ronan had lounged on Adam’s <strike>mattress</strike> bed while Adam sat at his tiny desk/dining table/only flat surface in the apartment and finished a paper about the War of 1812 with a level of concentration that the Dead Sea would be proud of. This was also normal. It was so normal he could set his watch by it. (Not that he had a watch. But he could set Gansey’s stupidly expensive watch by it.) Adam working far too hard at something that didn’t matter? Check. Ronan completely ignoring that he was supposed to be doing that same work? Check. Ronan pretending to be playing peekaboo with Chainsaw while really staring at the junction of Adam’s jaw and neck? Double super check. All signs of a typical evening.</p><p>But that was the problem, wasn’t it? This—thing—had been bubbling so consistently under the surface of Ronan’s skin for so long that it was only natural that he’d eventually explode with the pressure of it. He hadn’t even noticed he was boiling alive, like the proverbial frog in the stewpot over the fire, until it was far too late to save himself.</p><p>And so Ronan showed up where he was—not invited, exactly, but allowed. And so he lounged, ostensibly relaxed, with that practiced air of indolent carelessness, while his skin thrummed with energy unused, electricity yearning for a conduit. And so he looked, without looking, and burned. Night after night after night.</p><p> </p><p>The catalyst for the explosion—metaphorical, of course, he wasn’t Kavinsky—was something so absolutely, incredibly dumb. Which was also pretty typical. Ronan was certainly no stranger to idiocy when it came to his own behavior. Or his own desires. But this particular desire had been cultivated in secret for so long, carefully tended to and ferociously guarded, that he’d have thought his impulse control could withstand a bit more battering. He should have known better.</p><p>It started with a terrible joke.</p><p>“Hey Parrish. Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”</p><p>Adam barely looked up from the passage he was highlighting. Ronan didn’t wait for him to respond.</p><p>“Because they make up everything.”</p><p>He received an eyeroll. Victory.</p><p>“You know, a lesser man might take that as a pointed remark. Shut up and let me finish this.”</p><p>Ronan did. His victories were small, but useful fuel.</p><p>Barely a few minutes later, Adam sat back from his work, sighing in a way that Ronan knew meant relief, rather than frustration. As he packed up his essay to take to the library to type and print, he tossed out an unprompted question of his own.</p><p>“What would you put on Blue’s wanted poster if she escaped from prison?”</p><p>Ronan looked up. When Adam didn’t immediately follow up, he shrugged, nonplussed.</p><p>“Small medium at large.” Adam’s composure barely wavered. There was the briefest quirk to his mouth as he watched the punchline sink in.</p><p>Ronan was unreasonably pleased. He cackled loudly, which caused Chainsaw to caw, which caused him to fall back onto the mattress, laughing louder. This victory seemed larger.</p><p>He was still grinning as he sat halfway back up, mattress springs digging into his elbows.</p><p>“What did Blue go to prison for?”</p><p>“Knife crimes, obviously.”</p><p>“Nah, she can only stab herself with that thing. Bet she did some ecoterrorist stuff. There’s no way that girl goes her whole life without chaining herself to a tree.”</p><p>“Maybe she keyed Cheng’s car.”</p><p>Ronan scoffed at that. “That’s a misdemeanor, Parrish. Small potatoes. No one goes to jail for that.”</p><p>Adam raised an eyebrow at him. “How familiar are you with the specific level of criminality of keying cars? And more to the point, why?”</p><p>Ronan just grinned. “Maybe I’ve been doing some research to give Sargent pointers.”</p><p>Adam smiled, easy. “You do know where I work, right? Next time a scratched car comes in, I’m coming for you.”</p><p>All of a sudden, nothing felt funny anymore.</p><p>He was so, so sick of yo-yoing all over the place. Each reaction he drew from Adam fed a different part of him until he was so overfull with so many conflicting emotions at once. He couldn’t stand feeling like this—his every nerve a stalled engine and his heart the desperate throttle—a single second longer. Without a thought to the consequences, he grabbed Adam’s slim wrist and dragged him out the apartment door.</p><p> </p><p>Steel, meet flint.</p><p> </p><p>“What the—”</p><p>“Just shut up, Parrish. Just, wait, for a second,” he forced out as he led Adam by the arm down the stairwell and through the side door to the main building. The cavernous interior was dim, and imposing, and their footfalls echoed loudly in the empty space.</p><p>They crossed the entire church, still in silence. He couldn’t stop his feet or his brain would start up again, and he had no idea what then. Finally, he reached the confessional booth and shoved Adam—not hard, but insistently—through the curtain into the center of the confessional, and threw himself on the kneeler on the other side of the divider.</p><p>There was nothing to it now but to dive in headfirst. This was such strange behavior, even for Ronan, that he couldn’t possibly turn this into something normal. The only thing left was the truth. He breathed in, and then with no preamble, his confession poured out with the exhale.</p><p>“I dream about you.”</p><p> </p><p>Spark, meet tinder.</p><p> </p><p>He paused to gather himself, and toyed with the bands on his left wrist. When no sound came from the adjoining booth, he continued.</p><p>“I have nightmares. Obviously, you know I have nightmares. But you’re actually my number one recurring nightmare. Congratulations.”</p><p>Adam was still silent on the other side of the panel. Ronan had the impression that he had gone completely still. He was suddenly aware of how this might sound to Adam. He was saying it all wrong. If he had finally decided to leach out what had been corrupting his system, the least he could do was make sure he was actually making sense.</p><p>“Not like—you’re not a nightmare. But you—I mean, <em>I</em>—I mean actually, it’s just like this. I stand there, or sit here, and I can’t fucking talk, I can’t explain, I can’t tell you how I—” he cut himself off again.</p><p>It was an understatement to say that this was not going great. Well. He’d always been good at making his dreams reality. At least he had engineered this reality so that he didn’t have to look Adam’s elegant disdain in the face. He dug deeper.</p><p>“And then, you’re cold. Dismissive. Angry. And I know we fight, I know we argue, I know how we are. I know how you can be. Jesus, I know how <em>I</em> can be. It’s my fault, I’m sure it’s always my fault. I goad you into it and of course you could always defend yourself, Parrish. But in my dreams it’s so much worse. I’m not fighting and you’re just—cruel.”</p><p>Another lengthy silence. Then, finally, Adam’s voice, uncharacteristically small.</p><p>“So that’s what you think I am really? Deep down? Your subconscious can tell that I’m—” he stopped before he could utter the words they both knew he was thinking. <em>Like him</em>.</p><p>“No, Christ, of course not! I’m telling you it’s me, I’m the fucked up one. It’s the opposite.”</p><p>Adam had seen his night horrors. He knew what Ronan’s nightmares did to him, how they tore him apart. <em>My entire life is a fucking metaphor</em>, Ronan thought. Adam might not love him back, but he wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t live up to the worst that Ronan’s diseased mind could conjure. He’d be—polite, at least. Let him down easy, or whatever. <em>It’s fine Ronan, don’t worry about making me uncomfortable with your big, messy, unwieldy feelings. Just pick up that heart and put it back in the gaping hole in your chest. We can still be friends</em>.</p><p>Pitiful. Scrabbling for scraps in the dirt.</p><p>In any case, there was definitely no way to walk this back to a normal conversation now. In for a penny.</p><p>“It’s the opposite,” Ronan repeated. “That’s why it’s such a nightmare. It’s not just my worst fear of how you’ll treat me, but the horror of such a warped, inverted version of you. I can’t take seeing anything stripped away from you. Because you’re fucking extraordinary, Parrish. You’re overwhelming.”</p><p> </p><p>Flame, meet oxygen.</p><p> </p><p>There it was. It was out in the open, a living inferno now, and there was absolutely, definitely, no way to put it out. The house was engulfed and the surrounding neighborhood at risk. And because he was Ronan Lynch, he grabbed a flamethrower instead of a bucket.</p><p>“I know you’re leaving and I know you’re too good for me anyways and I know you don’t even like guys that way, but—I just couldn’t push this down anymore. I’ve been trying to ignore it and it’s eating me up from the inside.”</p><p>So. That was everything. Nearly a year of poking and prodding at Adam, collecting his reactions like debris and hoarding them deep down inside. Now every bit was exposed to open air, kindle for the blaze.</p><p>Adam, again, had been silent for too long. That still, quiet, Goddamn composure of his. Finally, finally, <em>finally</em>, he responded.</p><p>“So, what happens now?”</p><p>Ronan huffed out a breath, shocked.</p><p>“What the fuck do you mean, what happens now?” he gritted out. “I don’t know what now, I think that’s kind of up to you to say something. Fucking—anything.”</p><p>“I meant with this confession booth thing. After you say your bit, what does the priest do?”</p><p>The slight non sequitur brought Ronan up short. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? He couldn’t say he wasn’t a little relieved of the pivot though. Discussion of Catholic ritual minutiae was a handy distraction from the gnawing hole that had taken up residence in his gut. He was not absolved of guilt yet. Not even close.</p><p>“What, you wanna try out for the priesthood? I don’t know, he forgives my sins. Gives me penance to do and shit.”</p><p>At long last, he heard a rustling sound on the other side of the divider. A muttered, “Yeah, fuck that.” And suddenly Adam was in front of Ronan, pulling him up and out of the booth.</p><p>It was Adam’s turn to drag Ronan across the church. He stopped abruptly at the top of the aisle, and turned to face Ronan, still gripping his left wrist.</p><p>“Um.”</p><p>Now that he was forced to look into Adam’s suddenly very present face, Ronan couldn’t think of a single thing to say. All of his words had already been spilled. He felt he was empty. There was nothing left in him but that gaping cavern.</p><p>“Okay first of all, what you just told me—what you feel for me—it’s not a sin, Ronan. You need to stop being so goddamn Catholic all the time,” Adam began.</p><p>Ronan looked around exaggeratedly. Maybe it was his own fault for bringing them here, but now that they were, the whole thing was a little hard to ignore. Adam sighed.</p><p>“Fine. Wallow in your sin if you want. But if that’s sinful, the way I feel about you has gotta be downright satanic.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Record scratch.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Freeze frame.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry what?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ronan’s utter incomprehension must have played over his face, because Adam went on.</p><p>“Like. The devil fucking wishes he had my mind.”</p><p>Ronan still didn’t understand. He understood the words coming out of Adam’s mouth, but his brain couldn’t make the connection from the words he was saying to the idea that it was Adam saying those words. To him. <em>About</em> him.</p><p>Before he could ask—beg—for clarification, Adam reached out, thumb and forefinger grabbing Ronan’s chin, holding him firmly in place. As if he could possibly move. He was rooted to the spot, trembling.</p><p>Then Adam’s lips were on his. The kiss wasn’t soft, or tentative, but careful. Almost thoughtful. Like Adam himself, steady and direct. Unlike Ronan, who was a disaster at everything, Adam was very practiced at just doing something, as soon as he decided he wanted to. This kiss was no different.</p><p>But suddenly, it was very different. Adam’s slender fingers left Ronan’s face to grip the back of his neck, his other hand falling to Ronan’s lower back, as he pressed himself closer.</p><p>Ronan’s heart thundered in his chest, his ears. He gasped into Adam’s mouth, and as their tongues tangled together, let out a low groan. His fingers dug into Adam’s waist.</p><p>He pulled away, only slightly, far more breathless than the seconds of airlessness warranted.</p><p>“What in the everloving mother<em>fuck</em> is happening?” he murmured against Adam’s lips.</p><p>“Shut up,” Adam retorted, and kissed him again.</p><p>Ronan did. He walked Adam back until he stumbled slightly and sank down, heels caught against the lip of the stairs leading up to the stage. He dragged Ronan down with him, lips refusing to leave lips and hands refusing to leave hips. Adam’s crooked fingers caught in Ronan’s belt loops, and he was forced to his knees at the foot of the stairs, the foot of Adam, seated a few steps above him. Ronan’s own hands found Adam’s waist and they slid to his back, rucking his t-shirt up along the way as he pulled Adam closer, fitting himself in between Adam’s knees.</p><p>They stalled there for a while, tangled together, learning anew how they fit into each other’s world.</p><p>Once again, it was Ronan who pulled away.</p><p>“Not that I’m complaining about any of this, but what was up with the location change?” He glanced up beyond Adam to where the altar stood, waiting for consecration.</p><p>“We had to get out of that box because I really, <em>really</em> wanted to kiss you. And I didn’t want to kiss you in there. I was worried you’d get some weird Pavlovian association with it.”</p><p>Ronan laughed breathlessly, disbelievingly. He was standing in the inferno, ashes of his old world around his feet, and he was invincible. He was giddy.</p><p>“Too fucking late, Parrish. You realize where we are now is where we receive holy communion? I’m literally never going to be able to kneel here again without popping a boner.”</p><p>“Oh good lord. Please don’t try to fuck your priest during church.”</p><p>“Really though, you thought sucking face out in the open, where anyone can walk in and see, was better? Including that giant ass crucified Jesus looking down on us, by the way.” Ronan’s gaze flicked up again over Adam’s shoulder to the enormous cross on the far wall.</p><p>“Hey, you’re the one who took us here instead of staying in my nice private apartment. The divine consequences fall on you, buddy.”</p><p>Ronan kissed him again, swift and hard. “No Goddamn regrets.”</p><p>Adam returned the kiss, slower, softer, as if he had all the time in the world. His lips traveled over Ronan’s cheek toward his ear, and he whispered, “Don’t be blasphemous.”</p><p>Ronan swallowed. Hard.</p><p>“How has it not sunken in yet that I really, <em>really</em>, could not give a shit at the moment.” He smiled again then, a smirk no longer deadly, mischief in his eyes. “I’ll just go to confession later.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The pope said gay rights* so I wrote this. I can only assume this is exactly what he meant.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*barely, not exactly, but whatever at least conservative catholics are mad so that's cool.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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